


danse macabre

by bleulily (wollstoncrafts)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Canon Era, Curse Breaking, Curses, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Kissing, M/M, Masquerade Ball, Memory Loss, some slight horror elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 20:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21259358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wollstoncrafts/pseuds/bleulily
Summary: The man swirled around changing from partner to partner, his smile not yet fading until he came across a tray full of what Enjolras presumed to be wine. The liquid was a golden tone, similar in color to the mask Enjolras himself was wearing. He took a long swig of the drink and closed his eyes. But when he opened them, they landed on Enjolras, who stared at him bewildered."Enjolras?" asked the man, his eyes wide with surprise. He took a hesitant step towards Enjolras then held back, the green of his eyes quickly changing towards a more natural dark brown. "What are you doing here?"Enjolras finds himself in a never-ending masquerade, and he's determined to bring it all to an end.





	danse macabre

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weisbrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weisbrot/gifts).

> Disclaimer: There are definitely some horror elements to this fic. Nothing too gruesome, but there are illusions involved that make it seem as though characters are dead when in truth they aren't. 
> 
> I've been meaning to write a masquerade au for years, but I never really had the chance until this exchange. Originally I was going to write a vampire au, but nothing seemed to work out. It was until a week into October that the idea finally came to me. I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope my giftee enjoys what I came up with!
> 
> Many thanks to my friend Niky who helped me beta-read this. We are both non native English speakers tho, so if you find punctuation errors please let me know!
> 
> I also made a playlist for this fic, if you wanna listen to it while [ reading!](https://open.spotify.com/user/moira7474/playlist/36aey07cv2NRJnAlJzxv7M)

Enjolras had never been fond of dancing. 

It was an oddity in his family, a strangeness that had always kept him apart from his most sociable friends. His mother was a skillful dancer, the kind to be always occupied at any masquerade or ball. His father, though not as accomplished, would always seek to follow that which would please his mother, and dance with her all night. But Enjolras had always preferred to sit down by his pianoforte and play the melodies that would later send his mother jumping around the rooms of their household. He wasn't as skillful, not as much as his own father or the friends he had grown up with, but it was a simple little thing he enjoyed, if it meant to make his mother happy.

Nevertheless, Enjolras had grown to realize that learning to dance could be more of a necessity when he became of age. His friends would always drag him from one ball to another, and while he couldn't bring himself to join them in their dances, he found there was a little curiosity blooming in his chest regarding the unavoidable act. He wondered more than once what it would be like to dance with the one he loved, as all his friends would often do. And so one evening, free from all his duties, Enjolras made it his goal to ask his closest friend to teach him.

But how Enjolras ended up in a grand ballroom, with a masked gentleman swaying him from side to side, he couldn't quite remember. He had promised himself once that he would only do such a thing if it meant he would dance with the man he loved. It was not so much romance, but pragmatism. Enjolras didn't believe in wasting other people's time if there was no interest from his part. He knew the kind of heartbreak it would cause to toy with another's heart, as he had seen plenty of men and women do with those he held dearest. But yet there he was, with a man whose name he didn't know, and whose face he could barely recognize from behind the mask.

It didn't seem to him the man was that much older than him. His garments and his mask were made of the most exquisite dark silk, and his eyes shone bright against the barely lit room, like amber upon a flame. The man, though not as skilled as he remembered his closest friend to be, appeared to be quite the devotee in the act of dancing. He didn't seem to have a problem with Enjolras' two left feet, nor did he complain when Enjolras accidentally stepped against his foot in an attempt to follow in his moves. In fact, the man had laughed, a knowing smirk quickly forming on his lips as Enjolras apologized and quickly excused himself in search for a drink.

It was with a slight gust of wind coming from the grand windows that Enjolras realized that, much like the man he had been dancing with, he was wearing a golden mask to hide his face behind. It wasn't like Enjolras to attend masquerades, he thought them rather frivolous and of ill nature--the kind of social gathering whose only purpose was to flaunt the wealthy's riches against the poor. Enjolras was well aware of the number of people with less resources to attend such a meeting, and while he couldn't quite remember how he had ended up in such a place, he couldn't sober down the shame that crawled upon his skin.

He took a deep breath and walked amongst the masked men and women floating around the ballroom. They filled the room in bursts of all sorts of colors, from reds and yellows, to blues and greens. Enjolras didn't have to look down to notice he had chosen red garments to complement the golden in his mask--a choice most likely made by that friend he held dearest. It was the kind of leisure _ he _ liked to entertain himself with, to pick the perfect garments for all his friends to use in every special occasion. 

Enjolras wondered then if perhaps it had been _ he _who had convinced him to attend such a party, and his eyes searched for anything to indicate his presence in the room, when his eyes landed on a man--perhaps the same age as the man he had just formerly danced with, who waltzed around the room without so much as a mask. He smiled rather brightly, Enjolras denoted, and the green feathers from his garments shone brightly against the ballroom, bringing more color than Enjolras could possibly imagine--like a peacock seeking for a partner. 

The man swirled around changing from partner to partner, his smile not yet fading until he came across a tray full of what Enjolras presumed to be wine. The liquid was a golden tone, similar in color to the mask Enjolras himself was wearing. He took a long swig of the drink and closed his eyes. But when he opened them, they landed on Enjolras, who stared at him bewildered.

"Enjolras?" asked the man, his eyes wide with surprise. He took a hesitant step towards Enjolras then held back, the green of his eyes quickly changing towards a more natural dark brown. "What are you doing here?"

Enjolras, who couldn't quite remember the man he was speaking to, was suddenly hit with an unexpected warmth blooming in his stomach. There was a vague memory in the back of his head, the faces of two young gentleman rather unclear. They were sitting under a tree, their faces rather close as each of them held a book in their hands. Enjolras could tell they were comfortable with one another, happy even. There was a giddiness forming in his own stomach, as he heard the faint voices coming from his head.

("Do you think I don't notice the way with which you contradict me in every notion, and aspect with which I passionately speak?" Enjolras asked, his voice rather fond despite the words he had just spoken. He waited patiently for an answer, as the other gentleman regarded him with utmost care.

"You must pardon my outbursts, dear Enjolras, but what kind of friend would I be if I agreed with you upon every word you muster?" the other gentleman attested, "There are not two souls who think and act the same, not even so called soulmates, as their purpose is to complement one another. No, we must find a perfect balance between each other, you with your beliefs and I with my qualms."

"Do you believe us to be soulmates then?" asked Enjolras, his cheeks turning into a lovely shade of pink. He felt his heart race against his chest, his head catching up to his bold heart, but he waited patiently for the other gentleman to answer. "Or why are you so keen on seeking such a balance between us, if you believe otherwise?"

The gentleman smiled faintly.)

Enjolras regarded the young man before him, the faint blush in his cheeks, the way his lips parted questioningly. He had long, dark hair falling to his now darker eyes--a beautiful but harmonious commotion. Enjolras could almost swear he remembered the man, but every time he tried to speak his name, no words came from his lips. The name fell away before he could even catch it. Enjolras looked bewildered.

"Pardon, but I don't believe we've--"

"Enjolras?" a cheerful voice said from behind them. The gentleman before him turned towards it, amusement quickly coloring his features. He greeted a slightly shorter man, someone much shorter than Enjolras; who although hidden behind a mask, compromised a rather lively and joyful demeanor. It seemed as though the room could turn brighter by his presence alone, and something in him made Enjolras instantly feel at ease. "I'm afraid no one warned me about you attending the masquerade, otherwise I would have dragged you towards our little friendly party. You see, L'Aigle has been quite in the mood this evening, but I'm almost certain his spirits will lift once he sees your face."

"L'Aigle?" asked Enjolras, tilting his head with curiosity. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

The lively man turned to the other gentleman, his head cocking questioningly. He spared a glance at Enjolras, a green fleeting through his eyes before they turned dark again, then he nodded briefly before he walked away towards the night. The lively gentleman, now fully occupying Enjolras' attention made sure to tug him gently by the arm before the two of them made their way into the middle of the ballroom. His rather cheerful voice filled Enjolras' ears as he quietly explained the evening he and his friends had been spending, not quite making sure Enjolras knew what was occurring.

They walked towards a group of fine ladies and gentleman chattering about and drinking jovially as a rather jolly jig played in the background. There was something in that group--a faint memory of Enjolras knowing certain people much like the ones before him, all intertwined by their love for one another without paying any mind to the differences between them. He remembered sitting in the back of a room quietly, listening to every word and every joke they shared between each other, some for all of them to hear, some a lot more personal. It was a community where, for the first time in his life, Enjolras felt as though he truly belonged.

A pair of ladies widened their eyes as Enjolras and his friendly companion came into view. They were each wearing a white and gold dress, a perfect complement to their rich, brown complexion. Enjolras noticed the way in which they interlaced their fingers, their eyes drifting from Enjolras to one another as a faint blush creeped along their necks. They greeted Enjolras with a faint smile, one much brighter than the other. Then, much like Enjolras' lively companion, they mentioned how they hadn't imagined Enjolras would be there--not that evening.

Other gentlemen quickly followed along as they heard the lovely voices of the young ladies. They acknowledged Enjolras’ presence, cheerful gasps following behind, and before Enjolras had a chance to adjust himself, there was a pair of arms wrapped around his body, and a million voices filled his ears as more and more greetings surrounded him. Enjolras, though not quite used to that kind of attention from people he thought to be strangers, accepted every hug and greeting that came his way, and made sure to smile at every gentleman and lady that came close. He answered any questions regarding his well-being, and nodded his head whenever someone asked if he was spending a good evening.

Every now and then his lively companion would catch glimpses of him, brown eyes curious behind his mask. He seemed to be studying Enjolras, unsure if his behavior was much odder than usual. Enjolras wondered then how well the man knew him, and although he longed to ask what was the gentleman's name and how come they knew each other, he wondered if perhaps doing so would make the entire evening the worse for himself and everyone.

He sat beside a quiet gentleman as the pair of white dressed ladies moved towards the centre to join the dance. The gentleman, a fine young man of not more than five and twenty; with beautiful dark skin, and a dark blue attire that perfectly complemented his complexion, was in the corner of the grand room with a book in his hands. He had excused himself earlier muttering to their much livelier companion that he had studies to complete before the sun began to rise. He seemed a sensible man, as well as knowledgeable. The kind Enjolras cherished and trusted as his most loyal companion. He could almost remember having a close friend such as he, always ready to offer advice and an answer to any question Enjolras could possibly have. But Enjolras, still unsure about his name or how he had ended up in such a place to begin with, decided not to ask anything of the matter.

"If studies you shall finish, why must you have chosen to spend your evening here?" Enjolras asked, curious.

The gentleman, who had been hiding under his book, looked up to Enjolras as he spoke. "Don't you remember?" he asked, "Courfeyrac almost dragged me here after you muttered you would be attending no such thing. He refused to be at a masquerade without either of us, so he brought me here. But now I see he must be most joyful, as both of us are accompanying him."

Enjolras tilted his head confused, the name his companion had previously mentioned giving a strange taste to the tip of his tongue. There was something oddly familiar to it, a memory Enjolras was unable to unlock. It was a feeling similar to earlier, when Enjolras had encountered that other gentleman with feathers in his attire, but Enjolras couldn't quite point out why or how he was unable to remember where he had last heard the name.

Upon realizing Enjolras couldn't offer an answer, his companion spoke again. "Enjolras, is everything quite alright? You seem rather unwell."

But Enjolras shook his head. "No, everything's as well as I'm sure it should be," he lied. He watched quietly as his friend returned to his book, his blue mask nearly falling towards the tip of his nose. With a rather slow motion, Enjolras' companion pushed the mask back to its place, his gentle fingers brushing his nose. Enjolras made a motion to take the mask himself, when he was encountered by a rather confused expression. "Sorry," he said softly, "I was only wondering how much easier it would be for you to study without wearing that odious thing. I'm certain you'd find it to be much more comfortable."

His companion eyed him wearily for a moment before he nodded quickly. "You are quite right, my friend, I would much prefer to carry my glasses instead of this odious mask. It seems Courfeyrac is quite distracted with the rest of our party, I'm sure he won't notice if I take this thing off."

Enjolras nodded, unsure of what else to say. He waited patiently for his friend to remove the mask and show him his face so the memory might become more clear, but before he was able to get a glimpse of the man in question, he was found with nothing other than a decaying corpse. Instead of a young man, there in front of Enjolras was a well past body, with blue skin and soulless eyes. Enjolras stared at the man in horror, his heart thudding loudly against his chest. He watched with alarm as the creature tilted his head questioningly, opening his mouth to inquire what seemed to be the problem, and sending Enjolras away from the room.

He ran towards the garden frantically, his heart aching for something he couldn't quite understand, and his breathing still heavy from that last encounter. He couldn't seem to know what was happening around him, how he had ended up in such a place, and why had he encountered a decaying corpse when he was almost certain the creature he was with was still living. He wondered if the other people around him would look the same to him, but when faced towards a woman ready to remove her own mask, he forced himself to look away. 

He wondered for a moment if perhaps the same thing would happen if he removed his own mask, if he had died and couldn't remember. But if such was the afterlife, why would he be found in the middle of a masquerade away from those he loved, in a place away from that which he called his own home? He accepted the fresh scent of the garden and flowers as he took a deep breath and cleared his head. He needed a thousand answers to questions he hadn't even learned yet, and he was unsure where to begin. Had he done something wrong in his life before to be met with such a fate, and if so, how could he possibly mend it?

He looked up at the sky full of stars and noticed something in the air was different--something sitting not quite well with him. He looked around searching for answers, for something that could possibly tell him how or why was he there, but all he could find was a handsome gentleman with curly dark hair and bright green eyes.

He stood in the middle of a crowd with a glass still in hands. It seemed to Enjolras that the young man could never possibly walk inside a room without the odious thing, but he pushed the irritation away as they once again locked eyes and the man walked in his direction without any sort of hesitation. There was something in his eyes, Enjolras noticed, a certain kind of worry that looked almost wrong with his rather strong features. His eyes once again turned into a lovely shade of brown as he came close to Enjolras, but the worry never left his features.

"Enjolras," the man said softly, his voice a melody contrasting the noise coming from inside. Enjolras noticed then how different it all was in that place away from the crowd, and his stomach churned. He rather preferred the quiet and private places. But he noticed with a frown that a certain longing had filled his heart. How giddy his body had become as soon as the gentleman had abandoned his own crowd to be with him, blooming red roses surrounding them like a warning for something Enjolras wasn't quite sure of. "Are you quite well? You seem rather distressed."

Enjolras shook his head, a lump forming in his throat. He looked at the man, the fine stubble on his chin, his flitting eyes, the soft curve of his mouth. How was it that he felt as though he had known the man for years, but then not at all. "Do we know each other?" he asked softly.

The man's eyes widened in horror, his lips slightly parting to offer a reply, then the entire world turned to black.

* * *

Enjolras danced with a gentleman he wasn't certain he knew at all. 

He was not much older than him, perhaps only a couple of years. But as Enjolras gave it much thought, the entire act made him rather uncomfortable. It was rather strange of him to do such a thing, as he had never been fond of dancing; and while he longed to do it one day with the one he loved, it had never been in his nature to dance with strangers. No, Enjolras was certainly horrified by the thought. It was a matter of principle, he had experienced first hand the heartbreak from several of his close friends, and he refused to be the one to cause heartbreak to others. 

But the gentleman by his side seemed to not mind or be interested as he kept eyeing the room around them while Enjolras accidentally stomped on his foot. Enjolras apologized, both for his confusion and disinterest towards the gentleman. But the young man seemed to pay him no mind, even as Enjolras stepped away from him, unsure of where to go.

Truth be told, Enjolras couldn't quite remember how he had ended up in such a place. Balls had never truly been the sort of events he would attend if their purpose was not to celebrate the birthday of those he held dear. And with a glimpse around the room, Enjolras discovered that not only was he attending a ball, but a masquerade--the kind of social event he would much rather avoid even if being held by his friends. He thought it to be mockery, a tasteless display of riches towards the working class. He almost felt disgusted at himself for being in such a place, if not for the nagging feeling that something else was entirely too wrong. He kept trying to remember how he had ended up in there, where he had been just before he danced with the gentleman, but his mind kept only going in circles.

He stumbled upon a lady carrying a tray of drinks, a knowing smile following him as she walked away, offering everyone around him a glass. Enjolras hesitated before taking one himself, his stomach twisting. Enjolras had never been the kind to drink. No, he much preferred to leave it to his friends who liked to sing and celebrate rather loudly. He could however remember having shared a drink or two before. And while the taste had started feeling rather sour, he had grown accustomed to it over the sips.

He smiled faintly at a vague memory of a man offering a drink to him, when he came across a gentleman with bright amber eyes. He was surrounded by a party of gentlemen and ladies who kept nagging for him to sing, their bright, devious smiles almost contagious. There was something in that group that tugged at something in Enjolras' chest but brought him fear as well. It was as though they were human, but not quite. There was something strange in their eyes, something Enjolras couldn't quite point out. He watched silently as they made their way far from Enjolras, when the young man's eyes landed on his.

His eyes had widened quickly, a frantic expression replacing his features. He pushed himself away from the group of people he was with, and walked towards Enjolras with a determined expression, his bright green attire shining along with his eyes. It was then, Enjolras realized the young man's eyes had turned to brown.

"Enjolras," the young man said, his voice much sweeter than Enjolras had expected. There was something in the way the man had uttered his name that made Enjolras' stomach jolt, but he pushed down the feeling and dropped his eyes to the drink in the young man’s hands. The gentleman was a tad shorter than him, but only by mere inches. And there was something undeniably lively in his eyes, despite the concern in his expression. He hesitated before taking Enjolras' hand, and Enjolras couldn't help but to feel as though they’d already met before. Not from sight or short conversation, but from several years. "It's Grantaire," the man uttered.

Enjolras' eyes widened, not quite certain what the name could mean, or why he had spoken with such sincerity; when he was flooded by the memory of two young men sharing a bottle, laying happily under the stars. It was a distant memory, barely visible for Enjolras to recognize, but a warmth surrounded Enjolras' limbs as he heard the faint voices sharing secrets in the midst of the night.

("Do you not remember that evening at Joly's, when we had all gathered to sing songs for those departed, and those about to join the world?" a velvety voice asked, "We sat just here under the stars, and you drank with me until you fell asleep."

"I do not remember such thing," Enjolras interjected, "If I had fallen asleep in someone's garden, I would remember merely because the pain in my back would be unbearable, and Joly would allow no such thing to happen, not under his roof."

The other man laughed, his voice echoing through the emptiness and sending a shiver through Enjolras' spine. When he locked eyes with Enjolras again, he spoke with such softness Enjolras thought he wouldn't find his breathing again. "That's because I carried you to Joly's room so you wouldn't catch a cold. Isn't it rather common for you humans to suffer from such things if not properly taken care of?"

Enjolras swatted him then, but he couldn't help the little smile that had formed on his lips.)

The gentleman, now better known as Grantaire, had stared at him curiously, waiting for an answer. He watched patiently as Enjolras composed himself again, then parted his lips to ask a question, when Enjolras stopped him abruptly.

"We've met before, haven't we?" inquired Enjolras.

Grantaire's eyes widened, but a hopeful smile formed on his lips, when another gentleman approached them. He was a fine gentleman certainly, a little small if anything, but nothing that would stop him short from conquering the heart of anyone who came across him. He painted himself with a bright yellow attire, the kind that would catch the attention of any gentleman or lady. And if it wasn't his dashing suit that brought all eyes towards him, it would most certainly be his bright smile. He took ahold of Grantaire's arm and offered a warm greeting--an old friend, Enjolras supposed, but then the gentleman locked eyes with him and his smile brightened.

"Enjolras," the man exclaimed, "I was almost certain I would never find you here! How are you, my dear friend? I trust you're in good hands to spend a fine evening."

Enjolras nodded his head, barely acknowledging the hand that had slipped through his arm as he regarded Grantaire. Grantaire offered Enjolras a hesitant smile, then nodded for the gentleman to drag Enjolras away. Enjolras looked at Grantaire in sign of protest, but allowed himself to be swayed around the ballroom by the lively gentleman. He spoke of his own adventures at the masquerade, of the ladies he had danced with, and the gentlemen who hid with him behind the rooms to share an intimate moment. Enjolras felt as though the man and himself were quite familiar with one another, as though they had known each other for years--since infancy even, but he couldn't quite remember what was the gentleman's name.

He lead Enjolras towards a rather grand group of people, all chatting and dancing idly as Enjolras and his new companion came into view. They each shared a look of acknowledgement before they stepped towards them and offered a greeting, a pair of gentlemen quickly engulfing Enjolras into a warm embrace. They inquired after Enjolras' well-being, shared alike their stories of the evening as they showed their surprise to see Enjolras. There was a pair of young ladies dressed in the finest, white silk asking after his evening, and what could have possibly called him to join them at the party.

Enjolras easily followed into conversation with them, his heart feeling giddy to be surrounded by so many caring people. He couldn't help but to feel a pang of guilt whenever they would mention a name and he couldn't remember who they were speaking of. Truth be told, Enjolras couldn't remember if he knew any of these people at all, though whenever he would see them smile or chatter with one another, he felt as though he had already seen some of these things before.

He watched as several members of his party had dispersed to join the dance. Enjolras noticed his joyful companion had drifted towards the corner of the room with another gentleman, their expressions uneasy. Enjolras felt drawn towards them, the familiarity of their conversation seeming to make him feel at ease. He joined them before he was able to think, and when they realized he was there, they each offered a smile.

"Dearest Enjolras, do you mind telling dear Combeferre that he ought not to study while we’re celebrating? I cannot seem to convince him to leave his studies aside and actually enjoy the rest of his evening. You know how he can be."

Enjolras smiled, feeling rather confident. "I don't see what's the trouble with some reading if dancing doesn't suit him. I'm almost certain he'll join you in the ballroom if you give him the chance to feel more prepared for whatever awaits him in the upcoming week."

The more serious gentleman--Combeferre smiled. Enjolras noticed then, how bright his attire shined against the night. "You shouldn't have trusted Enjolras to answer your question. Don't you remember how he admittedly refused to attend? It's a surprise he's here at all, when he swore an oath to stay at home working on his own studies."

The lively young man pouted, the shape of his lips betraying the brightness of his own eyes. "Must you two always ruin my fun?" he asked, then turned his attention to Enjolras. "But I'm afraid Combeferre does have some merit in what he says. I'm rather surprised you're here at all. Don't you hate masquerades and everything they entail?"

Enjolras seemed to think about it, the question that had been directed at him, his own red and gold attire, the way the mask he wore itched against his nose. How uncomfortable it all was! And to make all matters worse, Enjolras could hardly remember how he had gotten here at all. But he pressed it not further, and he waited till his friends each tilted their heads when an idea rose his mind. "I have to admit this is rather uncomfortable," said he, then quickly removed the mask from his face. "Doesn't it get itchy to wear these for such a long time? I can't understand how can anyone dance all night with these odious things slipping down their noses."

Combeferre and the bright gentleman regarded each other, then the latter removed his own mask. "I suppose it can be rather uncomfortable, that's why I much prefer balls."

Enjolras stared at the young man in horror, how grey his skin had become, how putrid. He noticed with a lump in his throat how his much lively friend didn't look much alive at all, but rather like a corpse decomposing for many years now. His skin had all turned ghastly, a contrast to the beautiful brown that shone against the candlelights not but two minutes prior. His eyes were almost falling from where they were being held, and they were a dead soulless grey. Enjolras gasped in horror before he turned to run away.

He wondered what could have possibly happened to the gentleman he left behind, how many people in the room were in such a state. He even wondered for a moment, if he looked much the same whenever he removed his mask, but he had no memory of dying. It was then he remembered he didn't know how he had ended up in this place at all, and his breathing agitated.

He roamed around the room, searching through all faces for a sign or an answer, when he encountered that gentleman he’d met as Grantaire again. He was accompanied by the two gentlemen who had embraced him earlier, another lovely lady hanging by their side. Enjolras tried to offer them a smile, but he was almost certain he looked as though he was about to be sick. Grantaire quickly stopped him, his hands wrapping around his forearms.

"Enjolras," he said full of concern, "Do you not remember?"

* * *

Enjolras realized with a strange feeling that he was dancing with a gentleman he didn't think he knew at all. He was rather tall, with dark hair and an attire that perfectly complemented the black of his suit. His mask was a bright golden, an unnecessary kind of accessory to flaunt the riches Enjolras was certain he had by plenty. 

It wasn't like Enjolras to dance with strangers. No, in fact he hated the thought of sharing such an intimate moment with a man he didn't feel for deeply. He told himself it was a matter of principle. Enjolras wasn't the kind to squander around breaking a million hearts, that was more like his best friend to do. And to make all matters worse, Enjolras wasn't fond of gentlemen who flaunted their riches for those in need. He thought it tasteless, and quite frankly desperate, much like he did with events such as a masquerade.

But despite the discomfort of finding himself dancing with a rather repulsive gentleman, Enjolras couldn't help the feeling that he had lived this memory more than once before.

It was quite strange. Truth to be told, Enjolras couldn't remember how he had gotten there in the first place. But he could remember the ballroom and the candlelights, and some of the masks floating around the room tempting him--threatening him. He could remember the songs, the flickering lights that passed through them as Enjolras accidentally stepped a foot on the gentleman he was sharing the piece with. The gentleman, though rather annoyed, did not make a noise, did not even make a comment on Enjolras' foolishness. He merely smiled and nodded as Enjolras excused himself and walked away.

Enjolras, still rather confused by his train of thought and the nagging feeling that this too he had lived before, stepped away into the corner of the room to garner a drink. He studied each passing mask, paying careful attention to each detail, hoping to find an answer to the million questions forming in his head. There were several names forming on the tip of his tongue, as well as blurry faces flickering in his mind. He wondered then if he had taken that drink as well before, if he had exchanged words with an all too familiar gentleman, when the reason behind his inquires came into view.

It was a handsome gentleman, Enjolras couldn't deny. His fine, dark hair fell down from his head with perfectly crafted curls that adorned from his forehead to the nape behind his neck. His ears, much more pointed than Enjolras' own, moved from one side to the other as he spoke excitedly to the party who accompanied him. There was a glass in his hand, a drink Enjolras thought to be white wine until further inspection. It was an almost golden drink, an elixir that was certain to poison a finer stomach like Enjolras'. But the gentleman carried it with precaution, and took several gulps from it in between his conversation.

Enjolras walked towards him, feeling determined. He couldn't quite understand why, but he felt as though there was something important to the young man that Enjolras needed to discuss. His eyes immediately fell on Enjolras, all drop of a previous conversation quickly vanishing as Enjolras made his way towards him. The gentleman, now more concerned and curious, pushed his party aside to greet Enjolras, his once ember eyes turning into a deep shade of brown.

"Enjolras," he said softly, his voice a velvety sound that sent shivers across Enjolras' spine. "I'm so glad to have found you. There's something... I believe there's something--"

"You are Grantaire," said Enjolras, the words falling from his lips before he could think.

Grantaire tilted his head. "You do remember then?"

Enjolras nodded his head quietly, a fleeting memory crossing his head. It was an image of two gentlemen, more comfortable with one another than it had ever occurred to Enjolras. They sat beside each other in a dimly lit room, an open book laying in between their almost touching hands. Enjolras couldn't quite make out the words from its pages, or the faces with much clarity, but he could now recognize who appeared before him.

("Don't you want to spend the night back in your home?" asked Grantaire, his voice gentle. "I could send Combeferre a word to accompany you, or walk you back home myself. I know you find my chambers rather cold, and you mentioned earlier that you needed to study."

Enjolras took a look around. It was true that he found Grantaire's chambers rather difficult to live in. His room, though mostly made of wood, was much colder than Enjolras was accustomed to, and the flickering lights that adorned his room did much more to make the place feel like ice than a firelight keeping the hearth warm. But Enjolras didn't want to leave.

"I thought you mentioned wanting to read a few passages from your book before I parted," said Enjolras, "One passage can hardly count as a few."

Grantaire scoffed, but his expression softened. "I don't want to be the reason for you turning ill."

"I want to be with you, I'm certain I'll find a way to survive."

Grantaire regarded him then, his expression turning hopeful. Enjolras noticed then how Grantaire's hands fidgeted with the fabric of his clothing. Enjolras placed a hand over Grantaire's, and when they locked eyes, Enjolras' heart flipped as they realized just how close they had come to one another. Enjolras had never kissed anyone before, not like Grantaire, but before he had time to think his lips parted, curious, hungry. He breathed an unintelligible word, closed his eyes, and leaned close to Grantaire's lips.)

Enjolras couldn't help the feeling that washed over him as he took a step closer to Grantaire. He wondered if perhaps he had been reading all the signs wrong. He wondered if perhaps his memory loss, and the few memories he held of Grantaire were actually connected. He knew he had been in this time and this place before, had repeated this moment for several times now. He could almost feel a faint voice in his head telling him so. But he couldn't quite connect all strings together, not until his eyes locked with Grantaire's deep brown eyes.

Enjolras wasn't truly the kind to formulate a theory out of thin air. No, in fact Enjolras was a man of deep thought and strong bases. He had certain bursts of energy every now and then, where he would follow his heart against his best friend's will, but all after a deep consideration of whatever laid before him. Enjolras was trustful, and on occasion a little naïve. He always expected the best of people, even when surrounding himself by creatures of low morality. He was a believer, it was in his nature--but he carried those beliefs through a strong foundation of deep lecture and immeasurable knowledge, strongly supported by those two friends who would always stand by his side.

It was why then, Enjolras found himself wondering if perhaps the reason behind his sudden confusion was nothing other than a curse being played at the depth of Grantaire's heart. He had read stories about the fae folk in many an occasion, and he had known from first hand experience how cruel the creatures could be when crossed. He had lived near one of their courts when he grew up in Chamonix, and had encountered one or two pixies who had made it their best interest to make Enjolras' life a living nightmare.

But his experiences weren't all the same, and as he grew older, he had discovered that he had grown rather fond of certain kinds of creatures. Grantaire, if Enjolras could remember correctly, was in fact one of them, as well as several of the friends he had grown close to in the past few years. They were members of a court of trees, with wild houses hanging from great willow trees. Enjolras had been to them on more than one occasion, if his mind wasn't paying any tricks. He remembered having quite enjoyed the time he had spent in there, after following precautions Grantaire and the others had given him.

Nevertheless, there was something undeniable about the situation that laid before him. There was, without a doubt, a curse involved in the matter at hand, one that made Enjolras forget the man he was almost certain he had once loved. It was undoubtedly the product of a nixie, he had seen his own school friends be tricked by the creatures to forget the schoolwork they had left at home. They were much simpler curses, that was true, but Enjolras couldn't deny the kind of powers the creatures held. 

He took Grantaire's hand then, his voice hesitant. There was something about Grantaire's gaze that made him nervous--the depth in his eyes sending a shiver along Enjolras' spine. It was warm, almost intimate, the kind of gaze Enjolras was certain he couldn't find in any other human like him. "Grantaire, do you think you have been--"

"Grantaire, my dear friend, I've been searching for you everywhere!" a voice exclaimed behind them. Enjolras turned to find a shorter gentleman with bright yellow garments. He looked as though the Lord himself had placed him on Earth as an additional ray of the sun. His rich, brown skin shone against the candlelights that illuminated the room, his own attire matching perfectly with his glowing skin. He was beautiful, Enjolras acknowledged. A creature meant to bring joy to the world. "I was hoping you'd help me convince Combeferre to keep his studies away for the remaining of the evening," said the man calmly, when his attention shifted to Enjolras. "And who could you possibly have here? Is it truly Enjolras I see?"

_ Courfeyrac _ , Enjolras' mind provided, _ my dearest, oldest friend _. He waved his hand at the bright gentleman, his heart somersaulting as a memory filled his mind: the two of them hanging in Enjolras' garden while they shared stories--Courfeyrac's more entertaining than Enjolras', more magical, much like himself. They had known each other for over a decade. Enjolras was but a child, but he was curious to the prospect of meeting another faerie that wasn’t a pixie. 

"How could you recognize me so easily?" inquired Enjolras. "Does my mask serve no purpose?"

"There is no human on this Earth that has ever had hair as beautiful as yours. Those perfectly knitted curls I could recognize from miles away, though I'm certain Grantaire would do me the honor before I have the chance. They're quite impeccable, my dear, though I must say they're not yet as beautiful as my own. Must be the magic, I dare say."

Enjolras rolled his eyes but a huff escaped from his lips as his eyes darted from Courfeyrac to Grantaire. He noticed Grantaire's expression, though still rather cautious, had softened as the conversation between Enjolras and Courfeyrac continued, his lips slightly parted. He locked eyes with Enjolras for a long moment, carrying a silent conversation Enjolras was only just beginning to understand, when Courfeyrac broke their moment.

"I'm almost certain you'd like to continue ogling each other for the remaining of the evening, but if you don't mind, I'd like to show Enjolras around, and deliver the good news of his presence to the rest of our friends. I'm certain he'd be of more help with Combeferre than you when you carry a drink."

Grantaire smiled and shook his head. "I have a pair of friends I must speak to. If you're not too busy by then, I will carry on the remaining of the evening with our party. There's a matter that I'd like to discuss with Enjolras privately, if you don't mind."

Courfeyrac nodded and lead Enjolras through the crowd, his joyful voice never stopping as he told Enjolras every detail of his evening. It was like that with Courfeyrac, if Enjolras remembered correctly. There was always some story about a gentleman or lady he had made it his quest to pursue. He was a brilliant gentleman, with a curious mind and unprecedented wit. He had always a joke or two to carry around his sleeve, and much like Grantaire, he was one of the few kind that could achieve that which not many could: he could make Enjolras laugh.

And so he did as, once again, he shared the story of a young man he had set his eyes on. It was a human, much like Enjolras. The word dropping from Courfeyrac's mouth made Enjolras feel a shiver run along his spine. It wasn't much how Courfeyrac had said it, but rather, the word itself. Nevertheless, he ignored the feeling and continued to listen to his friend as he spoke, how he longed to visit the gentleman by the next day, in hopes that perhaps his feelings might be returned. 

The two of them smiled as their conversation dissolved to greet the friends who were already waiting for them, searching to find Grantaire, but surprised to find Enjolras in his place. Though Enjolras couldn't quite recognize every single one of them, he found that warmth had quickly formed around his heart as he took in all the grins and exclamations made in his way. He couldn't quite remember how or why he had gotten there in the first place, but he could almost remember the group of friends that would visit the café with him every Thursday and chat about the injustices of the legendary human king, who neither cared for his people, nor for the environment in which every other creature lived.

They had all gathered around Enjolras and Courfeyrac, bursts of color clouding Enjolras' sight. He couldn't remember ever seeing quite so many bright colors surrounding him, nor so many elegant dresses and breeches. There was a certain magic to them--the one that was so common among the fae folk, the one that could either make or wreak a human's life, the one that had to be treated lightly and with utmost respect. Enjolras was both intrigued and disgusted by it, but he didn't think of it further as he allowed the grand group of gentlemen and women to embrace him.

The night followed by as Enjolras expected it to, with idle laughter and dances happening all around him, masks of all sorts of colors floating in the air as the people surrounding him juggled all over the ballroom. He wondered more than once if he perhaps had known the family who had organized the event, if their acquaintance was more than a fleeting glance and perhaps a rather fully grown friendship, but whenever he asked one of his companions, they would shake their heads and utter they couldn't quite remember.

It was then Enjolras realized his theory went beyond what he had imagined. He had thought perhaps it was Grantaire who had been cursed. It was odd, Enjolras couldn't deny, for the fae folk to be cursed by others of his kind. But Grantaire had a tendency to speak over others and be louder than people preferred him to be. He was charming in his own way, having the ability to make friends with anyone he would come across, but Enjolras knew, with deep pain, that he wasn't always as good at keeping those friendships around him, and he had made in his path through life, an enemy or two.

But it wasn't merely Grantaire who had been cursed, but all his friends as well. It was an uncomfortable realization, Enjolras found, as he had always been confident in his friends being a rather lovely and fearless group of people. Enjolras didn't doubt they too had their own enemies, but perhaps not as many or not as commonly as Grantaire. Nevertheless, Enjolras couldn't help the uneasy feeling that ran through his veins, and he told, with much despair, that he had a feeling that something was most certainly wrong with this masquerade.

It was a young man then who responded to Enjolras, his bright auburn hair shimmering against his bright green attire. Enjolras noticed the young gentleman was most certainly the most extravagantly dressed of the group, feathers of all sorts of colors decorating the nape of his neck. He looked at Enjolras with deep concern illuminating his features. "Enjolras, are you quite well?" he asked softly. "I know you mentioned earlier that you were feeling rather tired and longed to stay at home."

Enjolras tilted his head, the name of the young gentleman forming on the tip of his tongue. He felt then for a second that he was to relive something he had gone through more than once before, but he didn't stop himself from making the mistake. "I--May I ask what is your name?"

The young gentleman looked at him perplexed, but he nodded firmly. "I'm Jehan," he answered. He threw Enjolras a glance and slowly removed the bright green mask from his face, revealing a rotting corpse in its way. "Don't you remember me?"

Enjolras' eyes widened, his heart thudding loudly against his chest. He shook his head and quickly made his way towards the gardens, the memory of going through a similar situation more than once becoming all too loud. He wanted to scream at the sky to give him answers, to help him understand how to undo all this, and if the state of his friends' lives was permanent. He wanted to know, again, how he had ended up in there, if anyone could possibly have an answer, _ if there was something he could do _.

It was then that he found Grantaire, searching frantically around the room for him. Enjolras marched towards him, chin raised in fierce determination. When Grantaire looked back at him, he almost smiled, but Enjolras could recognise the faint worry, permanent now in his eyes.

"Grantaire," Enjolras said solemnly, "I was hoping to find you here."

"Me too," Grantaire admitted, his voice hoarse. He looked at a lady removing a mask near them, her own face not much different from the one Enjolras had just ran away from. "There is something I've been meaning to tell you--"

"Please allow me to speak first, just this once," Enjolras interrupted. Grantaire looked at him hesitantly, but he quieted with a firm nod. "Grantaire, I don't know what must have happened, or what you could have done to place yourself in such a situation. But I promise, with all of my might, that I will help you break this curse."

Grantaire, now more bewildered than concerned, tilted his head in confusion and opened his mouth to speak, but before any more words could be exchanged between the two, the world once again turned to black.

* * *

Enjolras realized, with grave disappointment, that he was dancing with a gentleman he was certain he didn't know at all. His features, though mostly familiar by now, didn't actually lead Enjolras to a name. The gentleman was as much of a stranger as he had been only two days prior, and though they had certainly danced a few times by now, they had barely exchanged a few words in the never ending pieces they had seemed to share.

He was rather handsome, Enjolras supposed, or at least he had seemed so from behind the mask that covered some of his features. He had a raspy voice, Enjolras found, and bright dark eyes that shone whenever something sparked his interest. However, that interest had never been sparked by Enjolras, but rather the other fae folk who adorned the room with bright lights and knowing smiles. It was always the passing faerie that would garner the gentleman's attention, the ones who seemed wicked, to be hiding something. They were the kind Enjolras always tried to avoid, the ones further from the fae he had befriended over the years.

Enjolras stopped in his tracks then, a million memories slowly forming in his head. He had danced with this gentleman four times now, a never ending loop catching him day after day every time Grantaire had walked towards him trying to form a conversation, or asked something important. It had always happened some time after he had exchanged a few words with a friend, only to find they had been replaced by a rotten corpse. Enjolras had wondered then if perhaps his friends were under some sort of curse, one that involved being forgotten by their loved ones.

But Enjolras didn't want to make the same mistake, not after being aware of his surroundings and everything that was happening around him, so instead of stepping onto the gentleman, he apologized in the middle of the piece and left the ballroom, determined to find Grantaire once again at the spot where they'd met for the first time over and over again for the past few days. He walked towards the corner of the room, his eyes scanning every corner for the disheveled handsome gentleman with dark, curly hair.

He hesitantly took a drink, remembering that evening he had spent drinking in Joly's garden with Grantaire by his side. He could faintly remember the way with which he interlaced their fingers together, the charm of the drink finding its best on him. It wasn't often that Enjolras allowed himself to indulge in drinking or cheering, or any sort of celebration his friends were more fond of. He would rather sit in the corner and watch them, their own happiness contagious enough to reach Enjolras. But that evening had been Grantaire's anniversary, and a rather special occasion for his kind.

He waited patiently for the gentleman to arrive, his eyes scanning for any sort of companions who could be at his side. Grantaire had always been the kind to make friends easily, and to always have someone by his side whenever he took a stroll through the city--usually L'Aigle and Joly. But Enjolras found then, that for the first time in all four days of their never-ending masquerade, Grantaire arrived to the room on his own. He made his way towards Enjolras reluctantly, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his vest. Enjolras noticed with perfectly tinted cheeks how beautiful he had dressed, like a peacock ready to garner all the attention.

He strolled towards Grantaire as the two of them met at the center, an all too familiar song playing in the background. He had known it before from Grantaire. He had shown it to him when they first met five years prior. It was a melody from his people, a song meant to capture the hearts of all those who were human, and trick them into dancing until their feet were sore. It was a celebratory song for the fae, a jig for those who were daring and courageous. The song hadn't worked on Enjolras when Grantaire had first played it, nor was it successful when Enjolras tried to recreate it on his own pianoforte, but it certainly was that evening, as Enjolras took Grantaire's hand and lead him towards the ballroom, in the center of it all.

Enjolras had never been fond of dancing, nor was he of such events as balls and masquerades. But there was something thrilling about sharing the moment with Grantaire, about jumping around and grinning to the rhythm of the music, his sore feet barely a problem as he and Grantaire lost themselves in the moment. It was then he realized why his mother rather insisted on him learning to waltz and play the pianoforte well, why she could spend hours prancing around every room, sometimes with his father wrapped around her. It was thrilling, intimate, and the warmth in his cheeks only made it feel the more exciting.

He took Grantaire's hand and led him around the room, the two of them dancing in perfect synchronicity. Enjolras wondered how come they had never done such a thing before--how come in all the days of the never-ending masquerade had it not occurred to Enjolras to take Grantaire dancing, to lean towards him and share a small kiss. But his stomach quickly sank as he remembered why he had walked towards Grantaire in the first place, why he had seeked him out before anyone else, looking for answers.

Grantaire stared at him perplexed as their dance came to an end, and he searched for any answers in Enjolras' eyes. Enjolras, now feeling more preoccupied about the entire situation, could only take Grantaire by the hand to lead him elsewhere, promising to give explanations as they went. He had grown more determined over the course of the moments, seeking to find their loving friends and all the possible explanations he could find. He would ask them of their previous day, of any other fae folk they had come across and had possibly offended. Enjolras was in search for answers, and nothing, not even the fog that would always find him after finding one such an answer would stop him from saving his friends.

He opened his mouth to speak, his fingers still interlaced with Grantaire’s, and began to explain all that had gone over in his head in the past two days. He explained how it had been Grantaire himself who made Enjolras realize his own mistake, how despite all the troubles that had gone over them in the past few days, Enjolras found himself slowly remembering small details of Grantaire. He told himself to keep the details about the memory of them nearly kissing in Grantaire's room, though he supposed Grantaire would remember it as well as he did, if not better. But before he could continue, Grantaire had interrupted.

"I don't believe this is what we ought to do," said Grantaire, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. He locked eyes with Enjolras, his expression firm but faltering. Enjolras felt his stomach sink, a whirlwind of memories of Grantaire doing such a thing filling his memory with a certain uncertainty Enjolras had always much preferred to hide.

"What do you mean you don't believe we ought to do this?" inquired Enjolras, "Would you rather we did nothing and let the days follow through, with you and all our friends staying the same until your kind decides that our days can finally continue? And when would that be, if you're so certain? Wouldn't you prefer to live your life normally, perhaps allow our friends carry on with their studies--those which pursue them? Or perhaps live a normal life, as normal as it can be? Wouldn't you prefer to do that too?"

Grantaire shook his head, irritation clear in his eyes. "That's not what I mean. I simply mean that--"

But Enjolras wouldn't have it, not when his heart had already begun to stammer inside his ribcage. "Grantaire, our friends are corpses!" cried Enjolras, his voice echoing in the room as the music had come to a stop. "Don't you see the gravity of the situation? Do you simply not care?"

Grantaire looked around the room panicked, his hands once again fidgeting with the hem of his vest. When he looked at Enjolras again, his expression was that of intense alarm, one so sincere Enjolras didn't think he had seen it before. "Enjolras," said Grantaire, his voice strained, "It's not our friends or I who have been cursed. It is you."

Enjolras' expression softened, melting with something that mirrored Grantaire's soft bewilderment. He had been cursed in one many an occasion when he had only been a stubborn child, but nothing had ever come close to the feeling he was experiencing now. It was a rather confusing situation, to be true. But Enjolras found it explained well how he had always found himself unsure as to how he had ended up in such a place to begin with, and while he couldn't understand the state of their friends' bodies, or why he was able to remember Grantaire better than anyone else, he thought perhaps it all made perfect sense.

Hesitantly, Grantaire leaned towards him, his expression that of a plea. Enjolras couldn't quite understand what it was Grantaire was seeking, until Grantaire made a move to take his hand. Enjolras did it for him. "Enjolras, I would like to help you break this curse," said Grantaire, "If you let me, that is."

Enjolras opened his mouth to respond, his chest blooming once again with inexplicable warmth. But before he was able to mutter another word, he looked up to find a group of corpses slowly surrounding them, and the world turned blank.

* * *

Enjolras was once again dancing with the mysterious gentleman when he awoke. He seemed as unfazed by Enjolras as he had been on every occasion Enjolras found himself dancing with the young man. Enjolras however, realized how little attention he had paid to the gentleman too. He had always found himself thinking about the state of his situation, how little he enjoyed dancing, how confused he found himself by doing so with a stranger. He had noticed a few significant features, the dark eyes, the expensive clothes, and even the way in which the gentleman would often smile to the passing strangers--a knowing, dark smile noteworthy of those fae folk Enjolras found despicable.

It was then, finally, when Enjolras realized with wide eyes who he found himself dancing with. There was glamour disguising him, of that Enjolras had no doubt, but there was something in the curve of his smile, a cruel most detestable intention as his eyes flitted from Enjolras to the crowd. It was in the length of the gentleman's pointy ears, how much longer than Grantaire's they were, how his pointy nose would often slash the air like a blade. Enjolras had seen those features often before in the cruelest creature, one that had no mercy for Enjolras and his idealism.

Enjolras came to a stop, remembering their last encounter, only a few days prior to the masquerade. The gentleman, being a member of the royal court, had seen himself forced under the duty to invite all guests personally, and that included the gathering of a human to be the center of all the faerie jests. Enjolras hadn't been chosen to be made a fool, Montparnasse knew as well as Grantaire how much he knew of Faerie and all which their gatherings would entail. Enjolras had been present to one of those odious balls Montparnasse would throw for his own amusement; had been there when they placed another one of Enjolras' kind at the center and fooled him to fulfill their every desire; Enjolras had been there to stop it all, and challenge Montparnasse in the process.

Enjolras walked away then, his chest heaving with fury as realization dawned on him. It had been Montparnasse who had cursed him, a petty revenge for all Enjolras had done to stop his cruelty, for making amends between the fae folk and the humans, _ for not doing what he pleased _. Enjolras turned away, seeking to search for Grantaire and his friends, when he felt a hand at his wrist, stopping him. Montparnasse had removed his mask then, the glamour slowly fading as the face Enjolras had come to know over the past few years was revealed. Enjolras wanted to spit at him.

"Where are you going, Enjolras?" he asked, "Wouldn't you like to see the masterpiece of my creation? I thought you might like to admire the perfectly crafted piece before you. I believe you're rather fond of magic, that which brings hope to the world, and that which my dearest Grantaire can cast with his bare hands."

Enjolras stared at him perplexed his heart sinking immediately upon the mention of Grantaire's name. He was all too familiar with Grantaire's magic, had seen it first hand on more than one occasion. Grantaire had the ability to bring things to life with merely a stroke of his brush. It was enthralling, Enjolras thought, to see such things come to life. Enjolras had thought on more than one occasion, how could it be that Grantaire would think so lowly of himself in spare moments, when he could create beautiful things from scratch. 

But not curses, or the kind of dark things folk like him often did.

"Ah yes, I thought you'd be surprised to hear it," said Montparnasse, "It is with utmost sadness that I must tell you it was him who thought with the idea. He had been curious to paint the dance of death, as often depicted by many of your kind. He had been studying some paintings, and the occasional song, and he became inspired almost instantly. We thought it might be intriguing to have that sort of party, with all your friends appearing as corpses, and better yet, to have you as a special guest."

"You're lying," muttered Enjolras and turned on his heel to walk away when he heard Montparnasse laugh.

"Oh Enjolras, all those books and yet you have not learned my kind cannot lie?" asked Montparnasse derisively. He shook his head and laughed again, making Enjolras' stomach twist with bile. "You doubt my words despite knowing Grantaire for all these years. When has he ever turned down an event that would bring him entertainment?"

Enjolras thought about it, the words sinking down his stomach and shattering his limbs. There was no real reason for Enjolras to doubt what Montparnasse was telling him, not when he knew Grantaire to be the kind to turn every minor thing into a loud and boisterous celebration. It was in his nature, as it was to make friends with everyone everywhere, as it was to walk out of Faerie merely to know new places, to not stay stuck in the same, to feed his never-ending but quiet curiosity. It was why he had come to meet Enjolras all those years back, and how slowly but surely, had come to steal away Enjolras' heart.

Enjolras gulped loudly, his heart stammering erratically against his chest.

He took a deep breath and turned to leave, Montparnasse's despicable smile following him as he went and piercing through his head. He wanted to run away, to find his home and forget he had ever been to Faerie in the first place, carry on with his life as though none of this had ever been a part of it. But Enjolras wasn't one to quit, nor was he the kind to not put up a fight and stand up for what he believed in, let alone when it was Grantaire who now stood up face to face with him.

"Care for a dance?" Enjolras asked as he offered his hand for Grantaire to take.

Grantaire stared at his hand bewildered, but took it nonetheless. He waited for Enjolras to lead him through the crowd, familiar colours and masks quickly filling Enjolras' line of vision. He had seen every single one of these people once or twice by now, the recognition sending a chill through his spine. He had told himself plenty of times that he didn't know their names or anything about them at all, but despite being unable to see their faces clearly, Enjolras realized he had met these people on more than one occasion. He had argued with Grantaire about the importance of their well being outside of Motparnasse's reach, about how they should be taken care of from his filthy hands. He had stolen magic from them, had used them for his own amusement, and Enjolras couldn't just sit and watch.

("He's more powerful than any of us could ever hope to be," Grantaire had whispered, his eyes downcast. 

But Enjolras quickly shook his head. "Not if we're all together.")

"Montparnasse said you did this," Enjolras said coldly, his heart still wrenching. He wanted to scream, to demand for Grantaire to explain everything immediately, but he found, despite himself, that he hoped for Montparnasse to be wrong.

"I did," said Grantaire, his voice barely a whisper. "I did many years ago. I never thought he would put my painting to use."

Enjolras stared at him confused, Grantaire's dark eyes slowly turning into a deep, empty void. It was embarrassment, Enjolras realized. Deep regret over a mistake he had done such a long way back. "He... You didn't know."

"Oh I knew he had it, and I know he wished to use it against an enemy. He took it from me an evening after I'd refused to dance with one of his sisters. He got me drunk and made me swear an oath to let the painting come to life with his command alone," Grantaire shook his head, "I tried to warn you when I realized you had come despite telling him and all of us that you wouldn't attend and be a toy for him to play with. And then you asked me who I was, and _ I knew _something had gone terribly wrong. But every time I tried to speak of it to you, he would stop time and bring the day back to its start."

"So you know how to break the curse?" inquired Enjolras, his chest heaving with relief. He turned to look around the room searching for Montparnasse, his gaze piercing through his head, making him nervous to speak. He wondered if perhaps he was able to hear Grantaire speak whenever he tried to explain the curse--his painting to Enjolras, but he couldn't find him anywhere. Enjolras thought of his friends then, how they had all appeared to him as corpses, and he wondered, with an ache in his chest if perhaps the painting had been powerful enough to take away their lives.

Grantaire seemed to have read his mind, for his eyes widened and his head shook frantically. "It's all a trick of glamour," he explained, then quickly removed the green and golden mask that adorned his face. His face had resembled that of his friends for a short moment, the paleness of his skin suddenly turning into a ghastly, grey colour; then a moment later, the pink in his cheeks returned. Enjolras gazed at him, the hint of stubble forming on his chin, his dark, beautiful eyes, the curve of his lips. Enjolras wondered then what it would feel like to brush them against his.

It was then he remembered. They had never kissed before, not that evening in Grantaire's room, not ever.

"But Montparnasse does wish he would feed off their magic, make it all his and garner all their power. It's an ability, I suppose, to use the painting to that advantage. If the curse is never broken, and you die trying to find your way out of it, they could all die as well, for wouldn’t know the state their bodies are in either."

Enjolras took a deep breath, the idea of losing his friends piercing through his chest like a blade. He couldn't bear the thought of losing them, of Montparnasse stealing their magic away from them. He would much rather die himself if it meant he would save them. Enjolras had met them only five years prior, but had loved them almost instantly. It had all happened on school grounds, if Enjolras remembered correctly, he had only just left the library when he stumbled upon Combeferre. There was something odd to him, something Enjolras couldn't quite put together at the time, it wasn't the kind of magic he could find back at home in Chamonix, or the kind he had read before in books. Enjolras was well-studied, but he was well aware of how much was there left for him to read. Nevertheless, he struck a conversation with the gentleman almost immediately, his heart soaring as they discovered how much they had in common. Then a shorter gentleman followed behind them, curious to meet Enjolras, and the rest of it was history.

They had all agreed to meet again at café two streets from Enjolras' home. The Musain, they had called it, a strange attraction for the fae folk to visit. Enjolras could remember being embellished by the magic of the place, how much like Faerie it could feel. All sorts of creatures hidden by their glamour had greeted him, hoping to learn more of him, curious to befriend a human like Enjolras. It had made Enjolras feel odd at first, but over the course of the days, the small group of acquaintances he had made soon became his friends. And then came Grantaire, his loud songs, his strong arguments, his never-ending drinking, and the beautiful deep eyes that would change color with his emotions.

Enjolras could still remember the day his eyes had changed from blue to green, then from green to that beautiful dark brown--the color he would only share with Enjolras.

"So you do not know," Enjolras insisted, his voice breaking, "You don't know how to escape this, to break the curse."

Grantaire opened his mouth to speak, his brows furrowing. Enjolras knew what answered awaited, but he couldn't dare to hear it. It had always been like this between them, Grantaire was the sceptic and Enjolras was the believer. But if Enjolras couldn't believe anymore, what could possibly be left for them?

"I had only just met you when I first started painting it," said Grantaire, interrupting Enjolras' thoughts. "I couldn't understand at the time why I had been so drawn to you--not back then, not for several years actually."

Enjolras waited for Grantaire to continue, his heart fluttering. There was a certain hope blooming in his chest--a different kind, the one that had bugged him for years, whenever Grantaire spoke to him, the one that had been there that evening, when Enjolras leaned in to kiss Grantaire, before Grantaire looked away, his cheeks flushed. Enjolras had thought at the time that perhaps he had been reading all signs wrong, that maybe it was only him who felt that way. But before Grantaire could continue his speech, they were interrupted by a change of music, and Enjolras was forced away from Grantaire.

It was a rather dreadful sight, the one Enjolras had been faced with. All the creatures--all the guests who Enjolras had known once, had slowly removed their masks to reveal the frightful glamour Enjolras had only just discussed with Grantaire a few moments prior. Enjolras was surrounded by corpses, pale greys and blues filling his line of sight and making his stomach churn. They looked at him bewildered, eyes dropping onto the floor. They hadn't realized what Enjolras was seeing, not yet, and Enjolras wished he could do something to help them acknowledge whatever was happening.

He noticed Courfeyrac among the crowd, Cosette and Éponine dancing on their own as the music began to play. They had all gathered around to celebrate, without realizing the state in which their bodies found themselves. Enjolras wanted to scream to them, make them all acknowledge, but every time he had come close to one of them, he was quickly dragged away by the crowd, his feet out of his own control. It was like that with fae music, he had found, a difficult thing for any human to resist. But he carried on and followed along, trying his best to force a smile whenever Courfeyrac smiled at him, hoping to muster up the words in time to speak to Joly and Musichetta as they twirled around him with L'Aigle closely following behind.

Enjolras couldn't tell how much time had passed when he had first begun dancing until he saw Grantaire again. Nothing much had changed from what he remembered, his cheeks were flushed, and a wide grin had replaced his lips. But his expression turned solemn as Enjolras moved closer to him, his own partner dragging him further and closer as the music played.

"Enjolras," Grantaire murmured, his dark eyes searching around the room for any sign of Montparnasse. Enjolras' heart thumped with anticipation, and a dread he couldn't find himself able to voice. "There was another painting underneath the Dance of Death. One that Montparnasse had never known."

Enjolras was dragged away by another companion, the music piece changing into a much faster rhythm. His eyes, however locked on Grantaire's, found it difficult to communicate with him, as each of them jumped around the room with their partners. Enjolras couldn't find him, nor feel his presence, but he could almost tell the song was only going faster by Montparnasse's request. 

"I didn't know what drove me to paint it, I was fairly drunk that evening," said Grantaire, his voice loud enough to echo against the crowd. Enjolras felt a lump form in his throat. "But it was a picture of you and me in a ballroom such as this. We weren't dancing, not really, but you had placed a hand over my heart and light shone from your fingertips to each corner of the room, like magic I had never seen. I'd felt embarrassed by it at the time, I thought it had only been my drunkenness playing games on myself, but I suppose there's no doubt left on the meaning behind it now, is there?"

Enjolras had stopped in a halt, the crowd of corpses around them slowly fading as he paved his way towards Grantaire. The words he had spoken echoed through his limbs, making their way into his heart, sending sparks all through his body. For a short moment it was only the two of them, Enjolras' hand stretching out to barely touch Grantaire's chest, his fingers longing to trace the lines that formed Grantaire’s build--to press against the warmth of his magical heart.

"It took me a while to understand how I felt, you must understand, it isn't often that a creature like me feels so strongly about a person, but then you tried to kiss me that evening, and I realized just how dangerous it all was," continued Grantaire, "But I didn't want to bring you danger, nor did I long to break your heart. I was at odds with myself for so long, until I realized it had been my own quiet that had put you in grave danger."

Enjolras spread his finger against Grantaire's chest then, his lips slightly parting. He didn't dare look at Grantaire in that moment, not while his words were still so palpable in his own chest, so he closed his eyes and let the warmth engulf him. Enjolras had been acquainted with all sort of magic by then, he had been around green fae, painters, pixies, and the lot. He had seen the differences between those who garnered magic from flowers, and those who did so from the trees; but he could recognize the way magic would be felt on equal measures as he could recognize the absence of it. And so, before he was able to open his eyes in question, a loud laugh echoed through the room, sending a cold shiver along Enjolras' spine.

It was Montparnasse, of that he had no doubt. He laughed and laughed and laughed until there was no other noise heard in the cold room. He stared at Grantaire in disbelief, threw a hand over his stomach as his eyes locked with Enjolras', and the crowd around the room slowly came back into focus for Enjolras to see. His group of friends had all come closer together, their now dead eyes staring at the center in bewilderment. They were certainly searching for explanations, waiting for Enjolras' words of confirmation, but no word had dripped out of Enjolras' lips. 

No, instead Enjolras' eyes had casted down to the floor, defeat slowly heaving through his chest. There was nothing left for him to do, nothing to save his friends or himself. He stared up at Montparnasse then, his expression solemn. If he was to meet his doom and that of his friends, he would rather do it with his head held high, standing ground against the cruel fae who had no difficulty destroying the life of plenty others. If he was to meet his doom and that of his friends, he would fight until his last dying breath, he would protect the lives of those he held dearest.

He watched as Montparnasse raised his hand, magic swirling from his palm. He meant to turn the world to black, to deprive Enjolras from his memories yet again, and restart the day. Montparnasse was plenty of things, but not creative, he had always relied on Grantaire to do such things. But before his magic had reached the room, before his magic had engulfed all of them; still bewildered by the current events, Grantaire stepped in between Enjolras and Montparnasse, his eyes glinting with something Enjolras had never seen before--with something Enjolras hadn't understood until much later, something that glinted in Enjolras' eyes from the moment they had met.

"If you don't mind, I would like to have a moment in private with Enjolras before you bring the day back to its start," Grantaire said firmly, "Enjolras won't remember me by tomorrow, won't remember all I said to him only just a few minutes back. I want to have one last moment with him, that is, if he wishes so too."

He turned back to look at Enjolras, his eyes full of adoration as he made his request. Enjolras, now short of words, could only respond by taking Grantaire's hand with his, his fingers interlocking with Grantaire's much warmer ones. When Montparnasse groaned behind them, begging for Grantaire to stop, Grantaire gently caressed Enjolras' cheek. 

Enjolras had never had much experience with kissing before, if any. To him, kisses and all they entailed felt much like dancing. They were such things Enjolras didn't feel much interest for, not unless done with someone he loved. They were a sacred thing, an act people ought not to do quite so casually. They were something of magic, like the paintings hidden in the little house under the elm where Grantaire lived. Kisses were the kind of things that ought not to be treated lightly, as every interaction with the fae folk, or the curse of a witch.

Enjolras' first proper kiss however, was as magical as he had hoped for, if not more. It was the sort of thing from fairytales, the kind informative books could never dare to show. Grantaire's lips were soft and warm against his, gentle enough not to startle Enjolras, but eager enough to leave him breathless. His calloused fingers had found their way to Enjolras' long locks of hair, tracing circles against Enjolras' scalp, soothing away any concern or grief in the back of Enjolras' mind. He had made a conscious effort to make Enjolras forget all that was around him, to show him just how deep his longing went. He had kissed Enjolras over and over again, barely leaving a second for their breath to catch. He had pulled Enjolras closer, had allowed Enjolras to deepen their kiss. He had pressed their foreheads together, had pulled Enjolras down to his height, and when Enjolras opened his eyes again to smile, he realized the world around them had been changed.

It took a moment for Enjolras to recognize the colors that whirled around him, colors as bright as the attire of one too many guests that had been there at the masquerade, colors he had seen Courfeyrac wear, colors he identified with the fae. He allowed himself to be engulfed by the magic that surrounded him, the rumble of Grantaire's laughter bringing him peace. They stared at one another, hands clasped together, as all the magic crossed in between them and flew towards every corner of the room. Enjolras wanted to dance, wanted to hold Grantaire close against his chest as the world settled all around them. And then, with a sudden halt, all the magic came to an end, and Enjolras found himself in a grand garden, Grantaire and his friends standing all around him.

There was no sign of the curse that had prevailed over their heads, nor of the attire they had all been wearing only a few moments prior. They were all dressed as Enjolras had last remembered, with their cravats half undone and their vests half unbuttoned. Enjolras had always found it rather funny how the fae folk would bother putting so much effort in mimicking human attire, but he found with a devilish smile that it rather suited his friends.

He greeted them all with a smile, relief flooding through his chest making his eyes sting. He wanted to hug each of them and never let go, to whisper just how thankful he was to have them all in his life, when he remembered Montparnasse. 

The young gentleman laid on the floor, his head cast down, and his hands tied down by a rope made of roots and thorns. Enjolras didn't want to begin to imagine the kind of punishment fae did to their own kind, but he supposed he didn't feel pity for the despicable creature. Grantaire had explained afterwards how he was stripped from both the magic he had taken from others, and the magic that belonged to him. The difference between one and the other had been grand as it had turned out, but at the very least the folk who had been robbed could return to their normal lives with as much thrill and as much magic swarming through their bodies.

Enjolras had watched as guards had taken him away, Grantaire explaining every detail of the situation, from the painting to the never-ending masquerade to anyone who had come near them. Enjolras waited patiently as the hours had passed, sitting quietly on the grass, listening thoroughly to any word each of his friends had to say. They had been left behind on the events of the story, had listened to Grantaire as he explained over and over again, then whispered between each other, as thoughts were shared and hands were held. More than once had Jehan approached Enjolras to offer an embrace, apologies for not recognizing the gravity of the situation were heard on more than one occasion. But it wasn’t until after Courfeyrac had asked Enjolras for his well-being, that Grantaire walked towards him with a solemn expression.

He offered to take a stroll with Enjolras, to discuss all the events that had gone over in what Enjolras had imagined to be the past day, and the kisses they had shared. It didn't take much to convince Courfeyrac to let go of Enjolras, a knowing smile quickly forming on his lips as Enjolras took Grantaire's hand and allowed him to lead the two of them through the seemingly never-ending gardens. It was almost funny, how Enjolras and Grantaire appeared to find themselves stuck in all such continuous loops, but he didn't dare question fate, not when it had led him to this.

He noticed Grantaire was tilting nervously, his fingers twitching with the hem of his vest. He hadn't bothered changing his attire, not despite how much more comfortable Grantaire would find his own clothes. Enjolras placed a hand over his, his fingers gently caressing the back of Grantaire's thumb. When Grantaire stopped to look up at him he found that same emotion he had mirrored from Enjolras earlier in the day, and Enjolras' heart made a somersault in his chest.

"We ought to talk about what happened," said Enjolras, his voice softer than he had expected. He cleared his throat and continued. "I know you made an effort to explain to me how you 've felt about me all these years, despite not entirely understanding what these feelings were. But if you will allow me, I'd love to do the same."

Grantaire's eyes sparked with enthusiasm, and a wide grin formed on his lips as he nodded. "I know you must be tired of dancing after everything that's happened, but if you'd like, later on, I know of a lovely place where I can teach how to dance more appropriately, without stepping over anyone. It's not such a big place, and you can say no if you so wish, but it's enough for us to spend a fairly decent evening and--"

"Grantaire," said Enjolras before pressing a kiss against Grantaire's cheek, smiling as a blush crept from his neck to his ears. "It would be an honour to dance again with you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this fic, I hope it was enjoyable! You can also find me on [tumblr](https://eponinearchive.tumblr.com/)!


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